It is about this time in winter, mid-winter, that I get very restless. Generally I start to feel dizzy with the energy. What’s next? What’s next? What’s next?, my mind annoys. Since moving toward the woods, nearly two months ago now, I have felt the gentle bolstering of my new natural landscape in these moments of impatience. The stillness. The patience of the trees. The quiet nests where birds can be heard ever so slightly. This poem by David Whyte speaks to me now. Maybe it will speak to you. xo, MAV

When my daughter Mia added “a cookbook” to her holiday wish list, I was pretty thrilled. My son Miles loves to help in the kitchen and has already mastered making and seasoning many of his favorite foods. At gift-giving occasions he is likely to receive much appreciated tins of smoked salt, bottles of aged soy sauce, and links of cured meats, but Mia has stayed largely out of the kitchen.